The Internal War-The Civil War
by Sailor Amerika
Summary: Winning a battle with yourself is totally easy, right? Right...? Yeah, right. As America will find out, winning an internal war isn't as easy as he thought it would be when his other half just wants to rebel and fly South.


_Before you start a war, you have to know what you are fighting for._

I had heard that saying several times before. When you are a nation, you hear war quotes all of the time. I don't know why, but it seems that these so called "quotes" lie frequently. I know this, because I have started a war without a probable cause. Not the Revolutionary War, no. That war was for the biggest cause of my entire life. To be free. The War of 1812 was not my fault, either. It was the war after that, the war that about changed my country forever. The war I had about lost, if it wasn't for the spirit of my people. The will and force that kept me strong, even when I couldn't control myself. When I thought of ending the war, raising my white flag of surrender, I found the power win my battle. To win the Civil War. To win my internal war.

It had all started in 1860. My new boss had just been elected into office. I was in the office, talking about upcoming plans for our nation for the next four years. My new boss was named President Abraham Lincoln, but he insisted on just being called Lincoln. I chuckled and shook his hand.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lincoln," I said. The man had a full beard, and dark curly hair that set neatly in a messy fashion a top his head.

"Indeed," Lincoln replied with a firm nod. We parted hands.

"Sit, please," I gestured to the presidential chair, which seemed to be glowing with anticipation. Lincoln gladly accepted the offer, and sat down gracefully in the cushioned seat. I, myself, sat in the chair across from him.

"So, I assume you know all of the requirements and the ordinances of becoming president of the United States?" I ask. I'm usually not this formal, but when I'm around my boss, or a new boss for that matter, I try to be as sober as I can possibly with my attitude and use of language. Let's just say, I have a dictionary always on handy.

"Ah, yes, Mr..." Lincoln's voice trailed off. I mentally smacked myself. How could I forget to introduce myself?

"Jones. Alfred F. Jones, but you can just call me America," I finished for him. How could I be such an imbecile?

"Ah, I see, America. Well, may we start on our plans?" Lincoln asked me.

"Of course," I answer back, and we began to discuss the layout for our nation for the next several years.

About halfway through, I began to shift and squirm. Why did I drink several mugs of coffee before I came here without going to the restroom first? I squirmed a little more. I couldn't leave now, it would be rude and impolite to do so. Though, it might be a little while before I can relieve myself.

"America?" Lincoln asked.

"Hm?" I think I had zoned out.

"Do you... need to be 'excused'?" Lincoln cocked his brow. I gasped and blushed a bit. Had I really been that obvious?

"Uh... heh, yeah," I admitted. It was no use trying to wait. When you got to go, you got to _go_.

"I think the bathroom is down the hall to the right. I'm not completely sure. You know this place better than I do."

"Are you sure?" I asked. I squirmed a little more. Another minute and I would have burst!

"Of course! Go right ahead!" Lincoln laughed. I sighed and smiled.

"If you insist, I'll be back in no time!" I hollered. I stood up from my seat. I tried to walk out as casual as possible, but when I closed the Oval Office door behind me, I made a run for it.

Not even in a minute, I was walking up to the sink to wash my hands. It felt like I had lost ten pounds. The carefully carved and shining cherry-wood sink looked amazing. Did I to dare touch it?

I laughed, and turned on the tap. It squeaked and groaned, rust flakes fluttering down into the wooden bowl. I grimaced at them. I had told the staff to replace those obsolete things a long time ago! Oh well, I needed to wash my hands. A few rust flakes didn't kill me.

I washed my hands carefully. I had been trying to maintain my soft skin for many years... don't tell Canada. He'd never let me live that down.

After I finished, I flicked the water off of my hands and reached to grab a towel set neatly on a hook. I looked up into the mirror, and I gasped.

It was... me in the mirror... but not me. I had my eyes closed, and my cowlick was gone. And since when did I have a side queue? And I certainly didn't remember putting on a grey military uniform that morning. I looked down. Nope, I still had my navy blue suit with my beige tie. My glasses in the mirror were nowhere to be found, but I could still make out the faint outline of the frames on my face. This... isn't me, but it is me.

I touched the glass of the mirror. Right on 'my' left cheek. 'I' opened my eyes. I stumbled backwards, being caught completely off guard. I looked into 'my' eyes. They weren't my typical vibrant blue. They were an extremely dark blue, with a hint of grey into them. I bit my lower lip.

"So, we finally meet," 'I' said. A distinct draw was in 'my' tone. Since when did I talk like that?

"Who are you?" I asked. I believe I sounded brave, but inside, I was a completely nervous wreck. I had no idea what was happening.

"Ah, so we haven' met. I'm y'... 'other half', if ya would call it that," 'I' said with a light smug.

"You didn't answer my question; who are you?" I asked again, my voice sounding more confident.

"Alright Alright. Are y'northerners always this pushy?" 'I' ask. I open my mouth to speak, but I was then cut off by 'me'.

"I'm y'other half. I'm the Southern United States, but y'may call me the South," the South hissed at me. Since when did I have 'another half'?

"Why are you here?" I asked. The South cackled, his laughter echoed all over the cream walls. It sent shivers down my spine.

"Y're a real idiot," the South managed to gasp out in between laughter. I raised my brow. An idiot? I knew I probably shouldn't have been offended -I have been called idiot numerous times- but a light wave of anger pricked my senses. Maybe it was the draw that set me off...?

The South's laughter died down after a little while. He wiped his eyes. I guessed he laughed so hard he cried. I do that sometimes.

"Hehe... ha... Y'know? Y'real funny!" the South said with a smile, but the grin was conceited. I noticed how my teeth looked a little sharper than before. Almost like fangs.

"I'm here 'cause I need t' talk to ya, Yankee," the South jeered. Yankee? That was a new one.

"About what?"

"'Bout the new guy," the South said casually.

"Lincoln?" I asked. He couldn't have been talking about my new boss. There was nothing wrong with Mr. Lincoln. He had wonderful plans for the future of my country. There was nothing wrong with Lincoln!

"Yeah, Lincoln. He's plannin' t' ruin our country," the South dead-panned, his gruff voice lowering.

"You are incorrect. He has wonderous plans for our nation," I retorted. The South shook his head, a bitter laugh followed.

"Y'er so blind, 's not funny," the South said with a scowl. I was the one that laughed bitterly that time.

"Look who's talking," I challenged. I knew the insults were minor, but I wasn't dumb. I knew the South was planning something. Behind that distgustingly-charming, fang-like grin, I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was planning something, hiding it in the crevices of his thoughts. I was going to push at him to find out.

"Where did you come from?" was the first question that popped into my mind. I was just warming up.

"Like I said, I'm y're other half. I have been livin' in y're twisted mind ever since the Revolution. I've seen everything, heard everything. I know more than ya think," the South explained. I wasn't thoroughly convinced.

"So... like a subconscious?" I questioned. The South raised his brow, but was firm.

"Sure," he said with a light shrug, his dirty blonde hair bouncing slightly. I didn't think he knew what that meant at the time.


End file.
